Lauren turned to her, amused. “The poor bird would disagree as soon as Cleo decided to break into the cage and go hunting one day when we’re all at work.”
“You’re not really a killer, are you, sweetie?” Elsa rubbed underCleo’s chin. At twenty-five years old, she was an ornithologist at the American Museum of Natural History, which was right next door to the Beresford.
“And you’re not really willing to put up with all the birdseed hulls and feathers a live bird would fling out of its cage, are you?” Lauren teased.
Elsa sighed. “I suppose not. I can barely stand the cat hair as it is.” After washing her hands, she poured herself a cup of coffee. She leaned one hip against the counter and took a sip before asking, “Are you seeing Joe today?”
“No plans to.”
“Shame. By the way, you never told me if you recognized him right away when he came looking for you in the park. Does he look the same as you remembered?”
Lauren smiled and made her way back to the couch. “The last time I saw him, he was twenty years old and lean as a beanpole. He has matured and filled out since then, as one would expect.” Honest to goodness, thirty-five looked better on Joe than twenty. The fine lines fanning from his grass-green eyes did nothing to lessen how striking they were, framed by kohl-black lashes.
There had been something else there, too, both spark and shadow, when he confessed he didn’t trust anyone. Years ago, she would have asked if he was referring to more than what happened to his father, and he would have told her. But too much time had passed for her to be his confidant now. Besides, he was a detective for the NYPD. The loss of trust in humanity probably came with the job.
“I’ll bet he has.” Elsa grinned. “I know my parents didn’t approve of your friendship with him when you were living with us, but I think it’s the bee’s knees you’re working with him. It might almost feel like a social life. At least, the only kind you’d allow time for, anyway.”
Before Lauren could form a reply, Elsa raised her mug in a one-sided toast and took it to her bedroom to finish getting dressed.
In the next moment, Lauren’s other roommate burst into theapartment and closed the door behind her. “Oh good, you’re here, I was afraid I might miss you!” Ivy said all in one breath. She swiped a berry-pink cloche from her straight black bob and swept her bangs to one side. “I hope you don’t mind.” She extended a small brown bag to Lauren.
Lauren reached inside and withdrew a silver filigree picture frame. Inside was the photograph her father had given her earlier this week. The photo had been trimmed and matted with black, so one would never know the corner had been torn. What she had intended to discard, Ivy had restored and given a place of honor.
If only restoring the relationship could be as easy.
Lauren smiled, struggling to form a response.
“You’re not angry, are you?” Ivy blurted. “I know you said you didn’t want it. But look how cute you are, and how proud your daddy looks. He’s the only parent you have left, and if I were you, I wouldn’t throw that away.”
Ivy Malone had lost both her parents and her brother to illness. She’d taken a job as a widow’s companion and live-in personal secretary while completing her education, and now worked at the New-York Historical Society, down the street from the Beresford.
“You’re right,” Lauren told the young woman, who was one year Elsa’s senior.
“To my thinking,” Ivy went on, “having a distant, complicated relationship with your father is better than not having one at all. Don’t focus on what you lost when he went away on all those trips, but see what you still have.”
Lauren pulled her into an embrace and whispered her thanks.
The ringing telephone broke the two apart. While Ivy hung her coat and purse on the coat-tree, Lauren answered the call.
The switchboard operator connected her to her father.
She glanced at the framed photograph in her hand. “Hi, Dad.”
Ivy whirled to face her, and Lauren nodded in silent agreement that this time she would not be dismissive.
“I called to see if you’ve given my proposal any more thought.To make a good showing before the Napoleon Society board and join me on our expedition.”
She had less time now to jump through hoops than she had before, and she told him so. “I’ve been tasked by the police with checking for fakes among our top patrons, as a service to them, the Met, and the NYPD.” Her father had never met Joe, so saying his name would mean nothing to him.
A beat of silence. “Isn’t Newell St. John one of the Met’s biggest supporters?”
Lauren hesitated before conceding that he was. St. John had the largest private collection in the state.
“Then that’s the perfect place for you to start. Come with me today. He and I were in the same fraternity in college. He’s hired me to catalog his collection. You can check for fakes at the same time. I’ll ring him and let him know you’re coming. That is, unless you’ve already made other arrangements?”
“I—no, I haven’t,” she stammered. “I rang him a few times this week, but no one answered.”
“He was traveling last week and let the staff take time off. There’s your trouble. Come with me today,” he said again. “What do you say?”
